


Caprice

by viceindustrious



Category: Sherlock Holmes (2009)
Genre: Advent Challenge 2010
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-20
Updated: 2011-06-20
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:26:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viceindustrious/pseuds/viceindustrious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Coward has a busy social calendar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Caprice

**Author's Note:**

> Written for day seven of the adventchallenge.Prompt: Parties. Really I was trying to play with unsettledink 's prompt about rejection but sleepiness wasn't making the words flow as easily as I'd like. Think I'll come back to this idea later.

Coward's laugh rings bright and clear as ice, a high, helter-skelter sound unfettered by conscience or care. His cheeks are splotched pink, whether from wine or the wind, Henry isn't sure, but he is most _definitely_ drunk. He throws his gloves onto the bed and stumbles across the room to warm his cold hands on Henry's neck.

"Is that really you, Henry?" He squints, tugs at Henry's earlobe. "What are you doing here?"

Henry stiffens and shifts awkwardly on the edge of the chaise lounge.

"My father says he won't stand to have me in the house over Christmas," he reminds Coward.

"Have you done something _awful_?" Coward asks gleefully, swaying a little on the spot as he claps his hands together.

Henry tries to smile, but the expression is ill fitting, the corners of his mouth feel too tight. Coward blinks at him expectantly, rather like a magpie that's caught a glint of something shining amongst the undergrowth.

"Apparently I murdered my mother. Though, as you know, that was twenty-five years ago so I'm not quite sure why he feels the need to bring it up with such wondrous regularity."

Coward stares silently at him for a moment and then his nose wrinkles. "Oh. Is that all?"

"The owner of the Avondale wrote him a rather strongly worded letter about the credit I have amassed there in his name."

This makes Coward laugh once more and begin to fuss with Henry's hair clumsily.

"But what are you doing _here_ , Henry?" he asks.

Henry gently pushes Coward's hand away and Coward makes a huffing noise of irritation and swats him on the cheek with two fingers.

"You said I could stay," Henry says, looking up at the impatient, bemused frown on Coward's face. "Before-"

"Oh, _before_." Cowards waves his hand dismissively. "Well, I shall be rather busy. There are quite a lot of parties I must be seen to attend."

Every other word is laboured over carefully and Henry can tell Coward is attempting not to slur his words together, but he's blinking too much to appear anywhere near sober. He falls down onto the other end of the chaise and puts his feet up on Henry's lap.

"You know why you can't come with me, don't you Henry?"

Henry stares down at the dirty marks the soles of Coward's shoes are leaving on his trousers. The heel of one boot presses into his groin and he turns to see Coward smiling slyly at him. There's a nasty twist to his mouth.

"Try not to look so pitiful, my love," Coward says. "You can't ruin a suit that's as cheap as the one you're wearing. It's from Hillyard's isn't it?"

Coward snorts at the name. He digs the heel of his boot in harder. Coward's laugh is just like ice and more often than not, it hides the same cold, cutting edge beneath its beauty.


End file.
